


A Silly Little Thing Called Alcohol

by redsoxchic



Category: The Maze Runner RPF
Genre: Dylan gets wasted, M/M, Thomas takes care of him, little bit of swearing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-09
Updated: 2015-02-09
Packaged: 2018-03-11 07:07:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,771
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3318539
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/redsoxchic/pseuds/redsoxchic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It was clear to Thomas, when Dylan nearly face-planted getting off the bus at the hotel, that his friend shouldn't be left to his own devices tonight.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Silly Little Thing Called Alcohol

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this assuming that anyone who reads it knows about the almost kiss. This story takes place about two weeks after that, so while they're still filming The Maze Runner.

"Hey, Tommy!"

Thomas turned at the sound of the familiar voice. He was surprised to see Dylan making his way toward him, a huge grin on the brunette’s face.

"Dylan? What are you doing here?" he asked, raising an eyebrow. Dylan looked even more goofy than usual; he almost skipped over to Thomas, but he stumbled and then dragged his feet behind him. Something was off about him. 

"Well," Dylan started, clapping a hand on Thomas' shoulder as he reached him, "I was on my way back from the bar, but then I remembered you were still here, so I told my cab driver to bring me here instead of the hotel."

Thomas' eyebrows knitted together. The bar, that was right. Dylan and the rest of the cast had gone out drinking after they had wrapped filming for the weekend. Thomas had stayed back on set because Wes wanted to speak with him about something. They had ended up talking for hours about Thomas' portrayal of Newt, bouncing ideas off of each other as to how Thomas could further develop his character as filming progressed. They had finished their conversation just a few minutes earlier.

"You by yourself?" Thomas asked Dylan. It was very rare for any of them to go anywhere by themselves, especially Dylan. They all just loved spending time with one another. 

"Yeah, that's why I wanted to come see my good buddy Trombone." Dylan's grin grew even bigger, and Thomas heard a slight slur in his voice.

"Are you drunk?" he asked as Dylan propped his arm on Thomas’ shoulder.

"Pfffft," Dylan snorted as he leaned more of his weight on Thomas. "I don't get drunk. I'm just buzzed, that's all."

Thomas just looked at him for a minute, hardly believing him. "So where's everyone else?"

Dylan frowned. "Not sure. Could still be out. Ki Hong and Alex just kinda brought me outside of the bar and put me in a cab. Said they'd be on their way soon and for me to go back and drink a gallon of water."

Thomas laughed a little. "Yeah, you're drunk."

"Dude," Dylan said as firmly as he could manage, "I feel _fine_. No, I feel great."

"I don't doubt that," Thomas replied as Dylan leaned into him even more. He brought his arm up around Dylan's shoulders to support his friend, who looked like he was struggling with gravity. 

"Hey, how was your meeting with Wes?" Dylan wanted to know as he attempted to get his legs underneath him properly. 

"It was great," Thomas said honestly. "But, listen, I think we should get you back to—"

"Speak of the devil!" Dylan grinned again as he spotted Wes over Thomas' shoulder. He let go of Thomas and made his way over to give their director a hug. Wes gave Thomas a questioning look. Thomas just shrugged. 

"Had a good night, Dyl?" Wes asked as Dylan clung to him. 

"Yeah, man," Dylan said, pulling back to look at the director. His slurring was becoming more pronounced. "'S always a good time with those guys." He frowned a little. "Except for when they send me home by myself because they think I don't know my limit or something."

"I can't blame them," Wes said. 

"Hey," Dylan said indignantly, "What's that supposed to mean?"

"That you're way more drunk than you think you are," Wes said straightforwardly. "I think you need some rest." That was one of the things Thomas liked about Wes. He never sugar-coated anything or beat around the bush. He was always forward and real with everyone. 

"Awww," Dylan whined, "I told you guys, I'm fine. And it's only, like, ten-thirty."

"Well, Wes and I are going back to the hotel," Thomas said, walking over to them and prying Dylan off of Wes. "And since you've seemed to have lost about ninety percent of your coordination in the last three minutes, you'd better come with us."

Dylan grumbled something that sounded very much like "you guys suck", but allowed Thomas and Wes to help him to their bus.

\---

Dylan talked the whole way back to the hotel. The entire twenty-minute ride was filled with the sound of the brunette’s voice. After a while, it got to the point where Thomas could barely tell what he was saying. It was just babbling. Thomas realized that his friend was even more intoxicated than he'd originally thought. He'd never seen Dylan this far gone before. Usually the brunette was careful about how much he drank, but it seemed that he had had too much tonight. Thomas wondered what had caused Dylan to want to drink so much in such a short time period.

It was clear to Thomas, when Dylan nearly face-planted getting off the bus at the hotel, that his friend shouldn't be left to his own devices tonight.

"Dude," Dylan said, squinting hard as Thomas pulled him to his feet again, "Why's there three of you?"

Wes and Thomas exchanged a look. "Don’t leave him by himself," Wes muttered so only Thomas could hear him. 

"Wasn’t planning on it," Thomas assured him. Wes nodded, looking a little less worried. 

"I'll see you guys later," Wes said before they went their separate ways in the hotel lobby. 

"Bye, Wessy," Dylan called as he tripped for the second time in about two minutes.

Thomas caught him. "Good lord, how much did you have to drink?"

"Only, like..." Dylan was quiet for a long moment as he tried to remember. "Ten beers," he said finally. 

_"Ten?"_ Thomas repeated incredulously. He hoped that that number was an exaggeration, but judging by the state Dylan was in, he didn't think it was. "What in hell's name did you do that for?"

"It was really good beer," Dylan said, giggling a little. 

"That's not like you, is it?" Thomas couldn't hide the concern in his tone. 

"Nah," Dylan said, "But, look, Tommy, don't worry, I'll be good as new tomorrow."

Thomas sighed as he helped Dylan into the elevator. Dylan liked to have fun, just like the rest of them. But Thomas knew that Dylan never liked going too far— and Thomas had a feeling that his friend knew he had exceeded his limit tonight. Thomas was sure there was a reason behind it. 

They stepped out of the elevator when it reached their floor. Everything was quiet, which Thomas knew to mean that the rest of their friends hadn't returned yet. He and Dylan made their way down the hall to Dylan's room. 

"Dude," Dylan said as he rummaged through his pockets for his room key, "I dunno about you, but there's no way I'm going to bed yet. I'm wide awake. I don't wanna sleep."

"Look, you don't have to go to sleep," Thomas said. "We'll just tone it down a notch. Watch a movie, have a bite to eat, something like that."

"Okay..." Dylan didn't seem too displeased with the idea. "If I could find my damn key..." He turned the pockets of his jeans inside-out and even took his jacket off and shook it until its contents fell onto the floor. Thomas helped him look, but Dylan's key wasn't there. 

The brunette groaned. "Great, now what do we do?"

Thomas considered going down to the lobby for a replacement key, but he knew it would take a good twenty minutes, as Dylan could barely stand without wobbling. "We'll just go to my room, that's all," Thomas decided. "Get you a new key later."

"Thanks, man," Dylan said cheerfully. "What would I do without you?"

"I shudder to think about it," Thomas replied with a joking smile as he opened his room up and they went inside. 

The first thing Thomas did was grab a bottle of water and toss it to Dylan, who fumbled and dropped it. Thomas couldn't hide an amused smirk as he pointed to the bottle, now sitting on the floor, and then looked up at his friend. "Drink up. You need it."

"Yeah, look at all the good 'drinking up' has done for me tonight," Dylan said as he snatched the water bottle off of the floor. "If I put any more liquids in me, I think I'm gonna explode."

"Hey, do what you want as long as you don't mind having the worst hangover of your life tomorrow," Thomas answered. 

Dylan just grunted a little as he took a swig of water and then stumbled into the bathroom. 

They ended up ordering room service and sitting together on Thomas' bed afterward, flicking through the selection of TV channels the hotel had to offer. 

“So,” Dylan said, tossing a chicken bone at the garbage can and missing by two feet, “When d’you think the others will get back?”

Thomas glanced at the clock on the bedside table and saw that it wasn’t even midnight yet. “Probably not for a while, honestly.”

“They tricked me, didn’t they?” Dylan sounded as if he had realized this hours beforehand but had only just brought himself to say it aloud.

A small part of Thomas felt bad for Dylan, but he was mostly amused. He threw the bone of the chicken wing he’d just finished and it clanged into the trash can. “Sounds like it.” 

“Why would they do that?” Dylan wondered.

Thomas snorted. “Have you seen yourself?”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“You know what it means.”

Dylan threw a bone at Thomas’ face this time. Thomas grabbed a handful of french fries and dropped them over Dylan’s head in retaliation. Dylan frowned at first but then decided to just eat the fries.

“Seriously, Tommy,” Dylan was now slurring heavily. “’M fine.”

“Now, why am I Tommy all of a sudden?” Thomas asked. “You’ve been calling me that for the last three days.”

“You’re gonna get to call me Tommy all the time when we shoot the next movie,” Dylan pointed out, fishing a french fry out of his shirt, “So why shouldn’t I get to call you that?”

Thomas didn’t have a good answer for that. Dylan seemed to know this because he smirked triumphantly. “So, what’cha wanna watch, Tommy?” the brunette asked, grabbing the remote for the TV.

“Put anything on, I don’t care much,” Thomas told him, pulling a french fry out of Dylan’s hair and then tossing their garbage away.

Dylan found a channel that was playing a marathon of the Men In Black movies, and they watched that for a while before Dylan turned toward Thomas.

"Hey," the brunette said, lowering his voice and whacking Thomas' shoulder. "Hey, Tommy."

Thomas turned to look at his friend, and then Dylan was pulling him onto his side, so they were facing each other. 

"Remember that time on set?" Dylan asked, moving closer to Thomas while keeping his grip on the blonde. Thomas tensed a little at their proximity. Their torsos were almost pressed together, and Dylan's face was only inches away from his. 

Dylan carried on as though he found nothing about being so close to his friend abnormal. "Remember the time we..." The brunette paused, and suddenly his entire demeanor changed. He stared at Thomas intensely before his eyes flicked downward and his voice dropped. "When... when we almost..."

And then his lips were on Thomas'. 

Thomas' entire body went stiff with shock as Dylan kissed him, somewhat messily. A million different thoughts raced through his mind simultaneously. Where was this coming from? Why was Dylan doing this? Did he even _know_ what he was doing? Was it because he couldn't stand losing that game of chicken a few weeks ago? Or was it a different reason altogether?

The thing that surprised—and scared— Thomas most was that, despite the sloppiness of the kiss, it actually wasn't _bad_. Quite the contrary. Dylan's lips were warm and full, and he wasn't being too rough. Not too gentle either. Thomas' eyes fluttered closed, and Dylan deepened the kiss to the point where Thomas could taste the alcohol on his—

The alcohol. Dylan was _drunk_. 

Thomas pulled back and stared at his friend. "Dylan..."

But he had no idea what he wanted to say, or what he was supposed to say. Or if there was a difference between the two. After a solid minute of silence, he came up with something. "What made you do that?"

Dylan's grip on Thomas' shoulder tightened, and the brunette laughed a little. "I haven't been able to stop thinkin’ about you," he said. 

Thomas was taken aback by this. He opened and shut his mouth a few times before he actually spoke. "A-about that dare, or—"

"No," Dylan cut him off firmly. "You. You and your big, dumb eyes— and how cute your stupid face looks all scrunched up when you laugh, and your goddamn perfect smile—"

He kissed Thomas again, and this time it was actually so much harder for Thomas not to just give in and let him. It felt like his entire body had gone numb, in the best possible way. He had to struggle not to forget why he couldn't do this. 

After a moment, he pushed Dylan away gently. "Wait, listen to me," he said. "You're drunk—"

"Yeah, I'm fuckin’ drunk, okay?" Dylan said, sounding a little irritated. "Doesn't mean I don't know what I want."

Thomas kept his hand on Dylan's chest as he tried to come up with an answer for that, in case his friend tried anything again. "I'm not comfortable doing anything like this when you're not in your right mind."

Dylan frowned a little. "You coulda just told me you didn't like it," he said. 

"No, I—" Thomas groaned. Too much was happening right now. But he had to try to come to terms with what was going on and how he felt about it. He sighed. "I didn't say that," he said quietly. "What I'm trying to say is that it's not _right_ for... for anything like this to happen right now because you're not thinking straight."

Dylan blinked at him for a moment. "So you're saying that if I was sober, you might not be stopping me."

Thomas just stared at him. He had no idea what to say to that, no idea what the answer was. 

But Dylan smiled, as if he knew something that Thomas didn't. 

"'Kay," he said, finally letting go of Thomas and rolling onto his back. "I understand."

He was asleep within minutes. 

Thomas laid awake for hours, thinking about what the hell had just happened.

\---

Dylan woke up the next morning with a headache. He opened his eyes slowly and then blinked, trying to bring his vision into focus.

The first thing he noticed was that he was wearing the same clothes that he'd put on the day before, after they had wrapped up on set. He remembered that he'd gone out drinking with the rest of the cast. Then he groaned when he realized that he didn't remember anything else. That rarely happened to him. After one disastrous episode a few years back, during which he drank so much that he'd blacked out and landed himself in the hospital, he had sworn to himself that he would never go that far again. 

He was beginning to fear that he'd broken his promise when he suddenly realized that he wasn't in his hotel room. He was in _a_ hotel room, but he knew it wasn't his because the layout was different. There was a lamp on the end table next to the bed; he had a floor lamp in his room. There was one large window on the outer wall; in his room, there were two smaller ones. 

Frowning, Dylan sat up and looked around at the rest of the room. There was a round table with three chairs in the corner. A jug of water, a script, and some keys lay on the table. A few jackets were draped over the chairs. The TV was further along the wall opposite the bed. A Wii and a few remotes sat on the TV stand. Next to the TV was a dresser with a clothes hamper. 

And Thomas was next to him on the bed, sound asleep. 

Dylan felt like a bowling ball had dropped into his stomach. In that instant it all came back to him, and he suddenly remembered exactly what had happened last night. 

_Fuck_.

He ran his hands through his hair, gripping it tightly between his fingers for a moment. He was mortified. How could he have been so stupid? Drinking as much as he had was one thing, but kissing Thomas was on a whole new level of idiocy. Luckily his friend had stopped him before he'd made a complete fool of himself. 

That brought Dylan to an entirely different train of thought. Had Thomas just said that he didn't feel right about it to spare Dylan's feelings? Or was the fact that Dylan had been drunk the only reason it hadn't gone any further? Thomas hadn't said that he didn't like it. But he also hadn't said that he did like it. And even if he did like it, that didn't necessarily mean that he would be open to trying it again. 

Dylan's head hurt now even more than it had before. He rubbed his temples with his fingers as he wondered what he should do next. 

"Feeling alright, there?"

Dylan jumped and looked around at Thomas, who had apparently been awake and watching him. His expression was concerned. 

"Bit of a headache," Dylan mentally cursed when he heard his voice shake. 

"Can't say I'm surprised," Thomas replied. There wasn't even a hint of condescension in his tone. Just empathy. "The state you were in last night... I've never seen you like that before."

"I usually never let myself go that far," Dylan said, running a hand over his face.

Thomas finally looked away from Dylan, glancing down. The blonde pushed himself up into a sitting position as a brief moment of silence met them. 

"Was there a reason that you did last night?" Thomas asked after a few moments.

Dylan opened his mouth and then shut it again, looking down at his lap. He wasn't sure what to say. He was pretty sure that Thomas already knew the answer. The guy was so smart. 

Thomas asked another question before Dylan could even decide if he wanted to answer the first one. "Do you remember everything that happened?"

Dylan knew he had to answer this one. He owed it to his friend. He nodded his head lightly. "Yeah," he admitted. 

Silence fell between them again. It wasn't awkward, but there was definitely tension. Out of the corner of his eye, Dylan could see Thomas looking at him again. He finally glanced up at his friend. "Look," he started, "I'm really sorry."

"You don't have to be," Thomas said immediately. "Honestly. Please try not to be."

Dylan wasn't quite sure how to answer that, so he just nodded his head again. "I'm guessing you probably want to know why."

"You don't have to tell me if you don't want to," Thomas said, and Dylan could tell that he genuinely meant that. He wasn't just saying it because it was the polite thing to do. 

Dylan shook his head lightly. "Thomas..." He tried to form his thoughts into coherent sentences. "You're, like, the coolest guy I've ever met in my life." He sighed. It was almost annoying how calmly Thomas was reacting to all this. Though, he shouldn't really be surprised. 

He continued, "I was feeling pretty frustrated last night. I have been ever since I chickened out on that damn dare. And it wasn't just the fact that I couldn't go through with it that was bugging me." He paused. "I've been trying to stop thinking about you for the last two weeks. I thought that getting drunk would help to get you off my mind, but it didn't work. Obviously."

He glanced up at Thomas again. His friend was staring at him intently, but it was hard to read his expression. 

"So..." Thomas said after a minute, "You meant the things you said?"

"Yeah," Dylan said slowly. "Yeah, I did."

Thomas slid forward so that he was sitting right next to Dylan. The blonde took Dylan's chin in his hand and turned his head so they were looking at each other. Then, without hesitation, Thomas kissed him. 

This time it was Dylan's turn to be shocked. His brain almost shut off entirely, the only words even crossing his mind being "Thomas", "kissing", and "me". His body, on the other hand, responded almost immediately. He kissed Thomas back, leaning into him just slightly. 

Dylan had no idea how long they kissed for; all he knew was that when they pulled apart, they were both short of breath and his lips felt swollen and Thomas' hands were in his hair. 

Dylan stared at Thomas without quite looking him in the eye. They were still close enough that their breath tickled each other's faces. After a moment or two, Dylan found his voice. "What... what made you do that?" he echoed Thomas' words from the night before. 

Thomas furrowed his eyebrows thoughtfully. "Well," he said, "I wasn't quite sure what to make of it last night, so I thought it should happen again so I could figure it out."

Dylan fought back a small smile. "And?"

Thomas met Dylan's gaze. "You can probably figure out the rest."

But Dylan wanted to hear him say it. "Well, what does that mean?"

Thomas rolled his eyes a little, clearly seeing through his friend's act. "What do you think it means?"

"It could mean anything. Such a vague statement. For all I know you could be sending mixed signals to try to trick me, and what I think is happening might not be what's really—"

"Jesus Christ, Dylan. I bloody liked it, okay?"

Dylan smirked. "I had a feeling you did."

"Yeah, well," Thomas grumbled, “You’re just naturally a good kisser. And you basically ambushed me. It’s not my fault. I was defenseless.”

Dylan’s grin only grew. “Stop making up excuses. You loved it. And as I recall, you didn’t put up much of a fight.”

“Dylan—”

“Hell, you’re the one who just kissed me. I bet if I wasn’t drunk off my ass last night we would’ve—”

"Dyl."

"What?"

"Shut up."

Dylan had barely opened his mouth to protest before Thomas' lips were pressed against his again.

Dylan decided that if this was Thomas' new way of getting him to stop talking, it was fine by him.


End file.
